


On The Run

by carsatan



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, On the Run AU, Outlast AU, outlast - Freeform, outlast whistleblower - Freeform, whistleblower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carsatan/pseuds/carsatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles and Waylon must get away, far away from Murkoff's grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Run

“Slow down! We’re trying to lay low, not get thrown in jail for speeding!” Waylon glared at the other.

Miles’ knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, dark brown eyes shifting between the rear view mirror, side mirrors, and the road. They were only partially visible between the haphazard bandages that he had thrown on his hands in a hurry in the parking lot of Wal-Mart a few hours back.

“Hush, I’m trying to focus,” Miles snapped, Waylon gripping onto the arm rest with one hand, and the handle of the door with the other, holding on for dear life. 

“I see flashing lights up ahead, try to keep it under 80, please?” Waylon asked, groaning as Miles slammed on the brakes, the car behind them laying on the horn. 

Waylon turned and waved.

“Sorry!” He shouted, watching as Miles got into the far lane, going around the cop. He had pulled over a black mustang. “The cops are out Miles, we have to be careful. If Murkoff doesn’t get us, the police will,” he chided.

“I’m trying to put distance between us, especially since we basically have to get gas so often,” Miles shrugged.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten a gas hog. We’re getting what, nineteen miles per gallon,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Not my fault, your Prius probably had some sort of tracking chip in it,” he said, weaving in and out of traffic quickly. The programmer shut up, knowing that his car was likely tracked and chipped and likely had a microphone in it as well somewhere. 

Waylon listened to the radio, trying to close his eyes, trying to fall asleep. The sun was setting over the flat horizon in the distance. It was pretty. He liked watching scenery, it was always calming to him. And right now, he needed a million stress balls to deal with everything.

“We should stop for the night eventually, maybe get some dinner. Your finger wraps should probably be changed out. You got some weird looks at the last gas station when you were having difficulties due to lack of fingers,” Waylon chuckled softly.

“And you got your fair share of weird looks as you hobbled out of the vehicle with that bum leg of yours,” Miles snickered over at him. “But for real though, we’re going to need gas, and we can eat dinner,” he smiled over at Waylon, who nodded in approval.

Waylon looked at the road map that he had snagged earlier, looking for the exit that they could take. He stopped at the gas station.

Miles groaned, having put yet another $60 into the gas tank and got back in. He wasn’t made of money entirely, but then again, he didn’t drive from state to state in this vehicle, he usually took a plane for distances like this.

“I’m hungry,” Waylon whined, looking over to the other. 

“I am too, we’ll find somewhere to eat,” he smiled over at him, clicking his seatbelt quickly and starting up the vehicle. 

“I’ll drive into town, and we’ll stop when we find somewhere,” he said softly, turning down a road.

“Grant Street,” Waylon read as they went down the street. 

“There’s a diner,” Miles sighed, pulling into the parking lot, parking close to the entrance. In case if they had to bolt, they were close to the Jeep.

“I got this one, you paid for the McDonalds for me earlier,” Waylon said softly, making sure he had his wallet on him. 

Waylon basically clung to Miles for support, for his injured leg. He got a few looks as the gas stations, but nothing too suspicious.

“Let’s see if I can manage to eat missing some fingers,” he chuckled softly, a soft smile on his face as he held the door open for Waylon as they went on inside and they sat down in a small booth.

Swing music played from the small jukebox. The place smelt like fresh burgers and French fries; which alone made Waylon’s stomach growl loudly.

“Mmmmm,” Waylon hummed, grabbing the menu, glancing over it. Miles was still on edge.

“What town are we in?” Miles asked, peeking up at Waylon from his menu.

“We’re in Quinter, Kansas, and this is…” Waylon paused to look at the top of his menu. “Ray’s Q-Value,” he smiled softly. 

“We’ve covered quite a bit of ground so far, tomorrow should be a bit easier,” Miles sighed, the waitress coming over, taking their orders. 

Miles just got a water while Waylon got a fountain drink. Waylon managed to ask for directions to the hotel, which was the only hotel in Quinter at all; Budget Host Q Motel, and that it was dirt cheap; $45 a night. 

Waylon was immediately leery, he could only imagine what they could encounter on their adventure in such a place. 

“It’s cheap Way, we’ll stay there tonight, and the extra money that we’re saving, we’ll put it towards getting an even nicer room, I promise,” Miles said, holding onto Waylon’s hand, gently stroking it.

“Okay,” he smiled softly.

Waylon ordered a regular burger with fries, while Miles got a double cheese burger with fries, and ordered a chocolate milkshake for the both of them to split as well. 

The food was average, but they were starved. And there was really no other place to eat in town at all, the only other options were a Dairy Queen or a small pizza place.

But they were certainly satisfied, and Waylon ended up drinking most of the milkshake by himself.

“We’ve been reported as missing,” Miles said, dark brown eyes glancing down at the smartphone in his hand. I bet it’s Murkoff that did it, wouldn’t surprise me if it’s a company phone number to call if we’re spotted,” he said, glancing over his shoulders.

“Calm down, there’s not a single television in this place, and honestly, does this look like the type of place that everyone has a cell phone with stable internet connection?” Waylon asked. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even have a signal out here.”

“As a reporter, I have to have signal at all times, especially when I’m travelling,” Miles sighed. “At least they used a decent photo of me,” he smiled, trying to lighten the conversation up a little bit. 

They were both exhausted, that was obvious. Well, Miles was tired of driving and wanted to rest up for a bit and just relax. Waylon wanted to sleep for about a week at this point. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Miles suggested, throwing a $20 bill on the table and tugging Waylon alongside him. “We need to get you some more pain meds for your leg,” he said softly, opening the door and lifting Waylon inside.

“I can get into the JEEP by myself,” the programmer huffed, doing his seatbelt as Miles closed the door. 

 

The hotel looked shady as all get out, but it was the only place in town. Miles grabbed the bag of stuff they had picked up at a Wal-Mart along the way. Fresh clothes, toothbrushes, pain killers, bandages, and the two camcorders. 

“I have a really bad feeling about this,” Waylon whispered softly as they walked into the lobby. The furniture reminded him of what would be in a retirement home. The place had an odd smell of cardboard and stale cigarettes. 

Waylon hobbled along, looking at the paintings on the walls as Miles got a hotel room for the night. One bed was all they needed. Although both desperately wanted, and needed, a shower. 

The reporter tossed the bag over his shoulder as he grasped onto the keycard, the manager at the counter giving him a look as she got a glance of his bandaged fingers, or lack thereof. 

Hands were clasped together as they walked down the hallway, the deep green carpet beneath them muffled their steps. The large door creaked open. 

“Geez, go get the air conditioner running,” Miles groaned, feeling the heat as soon as he opened it.

Waylon nodded, limping across the room and turning it on, it ran, but just barely.

“What did you expect for like $50 a night?” Waylon asked plopping down on the bed face first, groaning loudly. Miles dropped the bag onto the floor, closing the door and doing all of the locks; deadbolt and chain. 

“True,” he said, hands working at his shoe laces. They were filthy from running around Mount Massive, while as Waylon’s shoes were new, having picked him up a pair of sneakers at Wal-Mart.

“You’ll sleep much better if you bathe,” Miles said, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair. 

“I don’t want to,” Waylon huffed, green eyes glancing over to the reporter. 

“I’ll help you, you also need your bandages replaced,” he said, going over and gently rubbing Waylon’s back.

Waylon reluctantly got out of the bed, slowly standing up and making his way into the bathroom. It was small, but it would work. 

Miles helped Waylon remove his tennis shoes, not wanting Waylon putting any more stress on his leg than possible. Waylon sat on the toilet seat as he did the belt himself, pushing off the jeans that Miles had bought for him at the store. 

Waylon had to assist miles a bit with his shirt, it’s hard to do things when you’re missing some fingers. 

“Don’t get your leg wet just yet, we don’t want it getting infected from the dirty bath water,” he said softly as he turned the water on to get it warmed up. Thankfully it was late enough that no one else was using any water, so it didn’t take too long. 

He began filling the tub as they continued to remove their clothing. They were both too tired to even care. 

“Okay, let’s get you in before it starts getting too full,” Miles said, taking Waylon’s hand inside of his own, helping him step inside. The water was only at the top of his foot as he sat down, injured leg resting up on the edge of the tub. 

Miles quickly set out some bath towels for them and grabbed the soap. “We’ll wash our hair tomorrow night, let’s just wash our bodies and get you into bed,” Miles said, getting into the tub as well, sitting right behind the computer programmer.

Miles turned off the water once he felt they had enough and quickly got the washcloth wet, lathering the bar of soap inside of it and working on Waylon’s back. There were still bruises that littered their faces, it had taken a while for the swelling to go down in his face after Eddie punched him into the gymnasium.

He wasn’t sure, but he would bet money on it that Waylon was about to fall asleep in the tub.

“Hey, stay awake,” Miles chuckled, leaning forward and placing a kiss on Waylon’s shoulder.

“Mmnh,” he whined softly as Miles wrapped an arm around his body, working on his chest next before working his way down each of Waylon’s arms. 

“Once you’re out of here, I’ll change your bandages,” he said, whispering against Waylon’s skin, causing the other to smile.

“Don’t forget your own,” Waylon reminded him, Waylon would have to help him with his fingers, and likely his chest as well. Thankfully the bullets were removed, but it would take a while for those to heal up. 

“I won’t, I promise, darling,” Miles teased softly, obviously amused by the thought that Waylon was likely going to end up in a dress back on that mountain. 

“Shut up, buddy,” Waylon grinned, causing Miles to frown. 

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, making sure that Waylon was rinsed off before letting the water out of the tub and getting out first, quickly drying off as the tub drained. 

He towel dried Waylon the best he could while he was still in it before helping him out, drying him off the rest of the way. 

“Here,” Miles said, holding Waylon’s boxers for him to step into. The man didn’t even object, quickly stepping into them. It hurt to stand solely on his injured leg, but that was the least of his problems right now. 

Miles quickly stepped into his own, carrying Waylon into the bedroom, it hurt, putting pressure onto his chest. But he knew the pain wouldn’t last too long.

Waylon sighed as he was dropped onto the bed, instantly stretching out his back a bit, sighing again as it popped in a few places. 

Waylon sat up, grabbing the first aid kit from the bed side table and gently cut the bandages from the reporter. Black stained them, nearly bleeding through them. 

“We can disinfect them tomorrow morning before we go,” Waylon smiled, applying new gauze to the wounds and securing them with multiple layers of medical tape. 

“Sounds like a plan, this place doesn’t have breakfast, but we can get fast food on the road, I’m sure we’ll come across somewhere,” Miles said as the bandages were done. 

“Let me do your hands next,” Waylon said, gently cutting away the wraps that covered most of his hand. Miles stared at the wall as Waylon removed and redid the bandages, not really wanting to look at them any more than he had to. “You’ll have to see a real doctor eventually, they’re not going to heal over unless you do.” Waylon insisted.

“I intend to, once we find somewhere that will willingly work on me without turning me into the government for being some sort of sick freak with black blood and a fucking ghost in me,” Miles scoffed. 

“We’ll find someone, I promise,” he said, finishing up the wraps, making sure they would stay secure throughout the night. Light kisses were peppered across the top of the bandages, down over where fingers used to be. 

“Rest,” Miles said softly, basically pushing Waylon back onto the bed. “I’ll change your leg bandages, and you can get some sleep. I’ll keep watch, I’m not tired,” Miles shook his head, making quick work of the bandages. It was complicated working scissors while missing a finger on each hand, but he made it work. He’d have to learn to live without them. After all, they were just fingers. He could have lost a whole hand; or his entire life. 

“Will you lie down with me?” Waylon asked, green eyes shimmering up at him. 

“Sure, for now,” Miles smiled, crawling onto the bed and lying on his back, knowing that lying on his side would bring him discomfort.

Waylon nuzzled up against Miles, not wanting to trap him in any way in case if he wanted to get up and roam around the room throughout the night. 

“Good night Miles,” Waylon smiled over at his partner, eyes already almost closed, exhaustion setting in. 

“Good night Waylon,” Miles replied, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Waylon’s lips, leaving the programmer’s cheeks a bright red. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, taking Waylon’s hand into his own. “I’ll watch over you, I promise,” he assured him with a soft smile.

 

I won’t let anything hurt you.


End file.
